


Human

by Doodsxd



Series: Humans, Heros, Monsters, And Everything In Between [1]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Billy Hargrove Has a Crush on Steve Harrington, Billy Hargrove Needs a Hug, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Coming In Pants, Coming Untouched, Dom/sub Undertones, Hair trigger, Hair-trigger, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Kissing, M/M, Obsessive Behavior, Past Steve Harrington/Nancy Wheeler, Shock, Steve Harrington Has a Crush on Billy Hargrove, Steve Harrington-centric, Steve Has Issues, aggressive behavior
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:02:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21718117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doodsxd/pseuds/Doodsxd
Summary: PE class came and he had to watch Hargrove walk around the basketball court like he had lost his north, the axis he spun around. Steve knew the feeling - the boy had missed class a week ago and he would bet he looked the same. They had been gravitating around, closer and away from each other, like magnets that weren’t sure of their polarity. Steve knew something would come from his bruised knee, he knew something was about to happen.They were a ticking bomb waiting to explode.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Series: Humans, Heros, Monsters, And Everything In Between [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1568416
Comments: 17
Kudos: 283





	Human

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Restricted Work] by [orphan_account](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account). Log in to view. 



> Hi,  
> I want to make it pretty clear beforehand that this work and some lines, maybe even paragraphs even, were HEAVILY inspired by the inspiration fic I linked here. That is because I read it and re-read it so many times, and the language work was beautiful, and honest-to-god I have some lines memorized, and I can't dissociate, I really can't. I'm doing what I would want someone to do if that was the case with one of my works: I'm crediting it. But I really really wanted to bring that idea to the Stranger Things universe, with Billy/Steve pairing, and I wanted to mix it up with the psychological analysis that is usually my style of writing. I wanted to play with the idea, put it into a more teenage-based place. But I'm disclaiming a lot of stuff here. Also the characters aren't mine, the universe isn't mine, yadda yadda. To me that is implied in the "FANFICTION" category, but there you go. Please don't sue me. 
> 
> I wrote the first part whilst listening over and over to The Neighborhood - Little Death (where the title comes from) and some Lana Del Rey (like Blue Jeans, West Coast, Music to Watch Boys To). If you wanna follow the vibe, it's there. Then I got caught up on Spotify's 2019's retrospective so idk. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy the fanfic anyways.

HUMAN

_by doodsxd_

None of it was right. 

Nancy left him for Jonathan Byers. 

Jonathan. Fucking. Byers. 

If she had left him for Billy Hargrove, he would have understood. Billy was an asshole, but he was a _hot_ asshole. Okay, he knew that was a very superficial way of seeing things. Jonathan wasn’t a bad guy; Billy Hargrove was a complete asshole. 

Still. 

She said he was bullshit, he was made of bullshit, their relationship had been all bullshit. And he had tried so fucking hard for her, to be a better person, someone that could touch her without leaving any fingerprints on her skin. 

Someone like Jonathan. 

But the harder he tried, the fastest and stronger he blew up, after pushing and pushing it all down. He felt frenetic, unfocused, a little detached from himself, from his senses. He felt sometimes like he acted from a place in him which he had no control over, the harder and the longer he put a lid on himself to be what Nancy Wheeler wanted him to be. 

He wasn’t that soft. He wasn’t that clean. There was a lot that he couldn’t change about himself, no matter how hard he tried. 

And now it was down to facing the fact that he wasn’t pure and holy enough for her. 

* * *

  
  


Balance was fickle. Precarious. 

Nancy came in and out of Jonathan’s car, Steve went to basketball practice. The coach gave up trying to stop him and Billy from going at it; if they wanted to kill themselves, they just shouldn’t drag anybody else to it. 

He had a split lip and Billy had a split eyebrow, but in the locker room he could see the other boy had been exceptionally wearing a shirt for a reason: his chest was a mess of bruises and cuts and even cigarette burns. It was so typical, Steve didn’t even need to ask who had been doing it. 

The fact that Billy was still standing, though, spoke volumes about how fucking stubborn he was. 

The fact that he spurred Steve on so they would make even _more_ damage to his face spoke of some self-destructive parts of him. The origin of that one was pretty clear. 

He wanted it all to stop. Just like Steve did. His brain was probably constantly doing 180’s like Steve’s. He was angry all the time. 

Just like him. 

* * *

Noticing that, their similarities, became sort of an obsession. 

Steve even tried working out. It seemed to help Billy burn out some steam, why wouldn’t it work for him?

But he wasn’t built like the other boy, so while he did get more resistance out of it, he didn’t get muscles. 

But he did get a little addicted to going at it, the endorphins. It made him headier if he couldn’t do anything, which was exactly what happened during summer.

Steve hurt his knee. 

He had been running in the morning, woke up to his brain going to full 100 immediately as he opened his eyes, and about a kilometer on it, his leg simply didn’t bend right, and he fell. 

_Two weeks of rest_ , the doctor told him. It wasn’t a grave injury, but he needed to keep it easy for a while. 

He _hated_ it. 

PE class came and he had to watch Hargrove walk around the basketball court like he had lost his north, the axis he spun around. Steve knew the feeling - the boy had missed class a week ago and he would bet he looked the same. They had been gravitating around, closer and away from each other, like magnets that weren’t sure of their polarity. Steve knew something would come from his bruised knee, he knew something was about to happen. 

They were a ticking bomb waiting to explode. 

* * *

“Heard you got a bad knee.” Hargrove’s voice came from behind him in the lockers. 

Steve didn’t turn. “Yeah.” 

He didn’t need to turn to see if the other boy had a shit on. It was a feeling, at this point. 

“How long off the court?” 

He turned, shutting the locker and facing Hargrove. He had a green bruise on his cheekbone. “Two weeks.” 

Billy seemed to be thinking the same Steve was. _What now?_

He turned around to leave. Steve stopped him by touching a bruise on his shoulder. 

“If the system didn’t get him,” He told Billy, and _that_ made him flinch. “Hopper would kill him and hide the body.” Steve couldn’t help it. He pressed on the bruise. Billy seemed to settle underneath the pain. “I’d help him.” 

“Done much killing around here, pretty boy?” Billy also didn’t turn. 

“Some.” He revealed bluntly, looking at the colors painting Billy’s skin. HIs hand traced some of the bruises with his fingers. 

He _missed_ the contact. 

Billy just stayed there, back to Steve, letting him touch his back. “Oh, really?” 

“U-hum.” Steve confirmed, aware he wasn’t going to believe him. It was OK. “Your father would be no challenge after what I already put down in Hawkins.” He promised. “Nobody needs to know.”

Billy shrugged him off. “Keep off of my business, Harrington.” 

Steve let his hand drop, nodded. “Whatever you want, man. Just offering.”

His shoulders relaxed as he walked away. 

* * *

He didn’t know how Hargrove came to be in his kitchen, at his house, but he was not exactly complaining. 

He was bored out of his mind, after all. 

“How would you do it?” He entered through the front door and found Steve immediately, looking incredibly worked up. Like he had _ran_ there, or something. 

Steve put down his coffee mug, eyeing the apparition. “What are you talking about?” 

“How-” He stopped himself. “This is stupid.” Billy turned to leave, and, finally, Steve saw it. Three cigarette burns on the nape of Billy’s neck. A purple bruise peeking from his waist on his back. His hands, scraped. 

Steve strode forward before be could leave and put his finger on one of the burns, _pressing_. Billy groaned, loudly, and fell to his knees from the pain. 

Once he had stopped, Steve took the finger off of the wound, but held Billy there by his shoulders. 

“That depends.” He started, understanding. What Billy needed right then. He’d punch sympathy in the face, and Steve could help with that. 

“On-” Billy’s breath was laboured now. “On what?” 

“Best scenario for me?” He asked, talking as if it was a common thing, a normality in his life. “I stop him with the siren I stole from Hawkin’s PD on his way home from work, by the side of the 46. It’s always empty.” 

Billy looked scared, and so fucking angry, and like he was trying very fucking hard not to cry. “Then what?” 

“I have a bat with me at all times.” He reached it, just out of view, hidden into the dish rack - one of the many bats with nails he had now. “I’d start slow, I think.”

“He’d never knew what hit him.” A tiny sliver of laughter tore from Billy’s chest. “He’s seen you around. Thinks you look like a faggot.”

Steve wasn’t surprised by that. “Does he think _you_ look like a faggot?” Steve wondered, and couldn’t help it; he let his fingers card through Billy’s skull, between the strands of his hair. Billy didn’t fight him; his hand came back with a slight red tint that spoke of a recently shut wound. 

“He thinks I’m the faggiest of them all.” Billy revealed, shoulders sagging. Steve could see how he tried so very hard, how he made himself bulky and aggressive to try to show his father he was good enough to be loved. It wasn’t like Steve himself hadn’t tried that with _his_ dad. 

He hummed. “Really?” Steve asked as if it was a surprise, but not really. “Ever heard of a thing called _gaydar_ ?” Billy started laughing. “Apparently, the only ones who can properly tell if someone is gay or not, besides the person themselves, are _other gay people_.” 

Billy was still on his knees, but his lines weren’t as taut as before. He didn’t seem to mind, now, keeping his balance from Steve’s touch. “You gay, then, Harrington?” 

“Bi.” Steve revealed, not shy about it. 

That seemed to take Billy aback, though. He stopped, looking serious. “You never told me how would you do it.” _How you’d kill him_. 

“I’d bash his face beyond recognition, Billy.” He said, and Billy shuddered, looking at that nailed bat. “Not even his wife would know who he was, if they ever found the body.” 

“What-” Billy’s voice came as a voiceless rasp. “What else?” 

Steve hummed again. “Tie some rocks to him, throw him in the river so no evidence is found. Tear down the plates of his car and sell it on the next town over.” He explained slowly, fingers moving through the other boy’s scalp, grounding him in the fantasy. 

“‘d ya give the money to me, pretty boy?” His speech was getting slurred. Probably coming off of the adrenalin high after what his dad did to him. He’d get tired or in shock real soon. Steve should probably move that somewhere else. 

“Maybe.” He admitted. “Maybe to Max, or Susan. Split three ways, what’d you think?” Steve asked, but he was already bending down to pull Billy up from his knees. 

The boy looked confused, but went along without a complaint, back to his feet. He let Steve guide him to the touch, laying down, a wool blanket over him. 

“Why you doing this?” He asked, then, almost unintelligible. He looked younger, somehow. Eyes bright, tired and a little scared. 

Steve could probably do anything to him right now. It was a heady feeling. 

“Told ya. I’m an expert on monsters.” 

He sat by Billy’s feet on the couch, pulling the boy’s legs over his own as he sat down. The blanket wasn’t big for the two of them separately, and Steve wasn’t about to leave him alone after all that. 

He fell asleep quickly. Steve turned on the TV on mute and ended up falling asleep as well. 

He woke up to Billy trembling, shock settling under his skin as unbearable cold. When he tried to leave, Billy whimpered, and he knew why. 

The only thing worse than knowing monsters existed was to be _alone_ with that knowledge. 

So, instead of standing up and grabbing another blanket, Steve laid down beside Billy, sharing body head, and hoping the other boy wouldn’t punch him to hell and back when he woke up to them spooning. 

* * *

He didn’t, effectively, punch Steve in the face at all. 

Actually, he just left. 

Steve didn’t even notice him leaving, or, if he did notice, his fuzzy, sleepy brain didn’t register anything. 

He couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed. 

* * *

Billy licked his lips a lot. 

Steve wasn’t sure why. He just noticed. Billy was just always licking his lips, always had something on them or between them - gum, cigarette, his own fingers, a toothpick. _Always_. 

* * *

He wasn’t staring. 

He just noticed. 

* * *

Okay, he had been more than noticing. 

He had been _fantasizing._

How those lips felt, how would they feel when Steve’s felt raw and tender, how would his _teeth_ feel biting his own lips, how did they _taste_ , were they as soft as they looked. They looked _so damn soft_ , worked over and over by Billy’s teeth and tongue and cigarettes and toothpicks. 

He wondered how they would feel wrapped around his cock while his throat choked on it, his blue, bright eyes brimming with tears from the effort to repress his gag reflex. 

He caught himself daydreaming that for a ridiculous amount of time. He couldn’t stop. 

Steve was in _so much trouble_.

* * *

“Hey, pretty boy,” Billy called him out when the game was over. Steve was still benched. Doctor’s orders. 

Billy looked _delectable_ with his shirt off. 

“What’s up?” Steve answered casually. Inside, he felt his insides trembling with _need_. 

Billy licked his fucking lips. Right there. Steve felt immediately hard, even though it was physically impossible. 

“I was wondering if-” Steve _knew_ he should be paying attention to what Billy was saying, it was probably something douch-y that he had to answer to, but _God have mercy on him_ those lips were moving, and way too close to his face for him to concentrate on anything. 

He wondered, for a brief moment, how did it come to this. From hating Billy’s guts and fighting him at every corner, to obsessing over the other boy’s mouth. 

He felt ridiculous. 

“Harrington? You there?” Billy snapped his fingers in front of his face, looking amused. 

“Harrington! Hargrove! Showers, now!” The coach yelled from behind them. Everybody else had left already, and the man probably assumed they were going to brawl over something or another. 

Billy went first, Steve followed. 

Once inside the empty locker room, Billy pushed him against a wall. Surprisingly enough for him, it wasn’t rough. It was just… _awakening_. 

“What’s wrong with you today, Harrington?” 

“Call me Steve.” He blurted out, making them both just. Stop. 

Billy’s jaw moved as he thought about it. _“Steve_ .” His full, red lips, perpetually raw, perpetually flushed, curled around Steve’s name like an elegy, and he couldn’t. He _couldn’t_. 

Steve’s breath caught in his throat in an effort to stop himself from making a sound, but he was -- he was _failing_ , because the strangled noise that blew from his chest was certainly _inhumane_. 

Billy’s eyes narrowed. 

“What’s it, _Steve?_ You choking or somethin’?” He asked, brows furrowed. 

“N-no.” Steve swallowed the saliva pooling in his mouth. “No. What’s up, Hargrove?” 

“Billy.” He corrected him. “If I get to say your first name, I guess you get to say mine, too.” 

“ _Billy_.” Steve tried. It tasted like pineapples and coconut, something sweet and refreshing and a bit salty, as if he had just came up from the sea. Billy always brought California with him, wherever he went. Steve sometimes felt like he was gazing directly at the sunshine when he looked at Billy. 

Seemed like _something_ caught up with Billy, because once more he was biting his lip. Steve felt jealous, wishing he could be the one to do that. 

His heart was pounding violently, reverberating through the whole of him, Notre-Dame's bell vibrating every one of his cells. _Now_ he was hard, and there was nowhere else to go. Nothing else to do. 

Billy was on him like a sudden gush of air. Steve was pressed to the wall, pressed to Billy’s sweaty chest, his strong hands squeezing Steve’s waist, and it was _perfect_. AIr left him all at once. 

Then, with California’s heat all on him, Billy leaned forward and pressed his lips to Steve’s. 

It’s slow, tentative at first,as if he was expecting Steve to throw him off and punch him - which is why Steve forces his brain into gear, just so his arms wrap over Billy’s shoulder. Just to say _you’re welcome_ _here_. Just to say _don’t ever stop_. 

But when Billy’s tongue slipped between his lips, tasting Steve, it got entirely too much. Before Steve could process what was actually happening, he was coming with a gasp of Billy’s name. 

When he comes back to himself, he’s softened all around and Billy is the only thing keeping him upright against the wall. His shorts were messed up, and Billy’s staring at him in shock, lips wet and a flush on his cheeks as he looks from Steve’s face to the wet patch on his shorts, and up to his face again. A wave of mortification sweeps over Steve. One kiss and he shot off like a rocket against Billy’s leg. 

“Did you- did you just-?”

“Fuck.” 

Steve slips from Billy’s grip, taking advantage of the shocked state Billy was at. He grabs his clothes from the bench and runs from the locker room, right into a bathroom, and locked the door to clean himself and change. Humiliation heats his gut up, and he changes his mind about going back to class, deciding to get into his car and go back home, pretend he was sick.

But on the following morning he has a test, and can’t skip it. 

He spends the whole night dreading the morning, and the inevitable encounter with Billy. 

* * *

The fallout he was expecting doesn’t really come. He does his test, goes through classes smoothly, happily avoiding anywhere Billy frequented. Not that he seemed to be around anyway - apparently, he didn’t go to school that day. 

As the day comes lazily to its end, Steve relaxes. 

“ _Steve_.” Billy’s smoking against the hood of the Beamer. 

Steve keeps going, pretending nothing’s wrong. Right until the moment he sees the absence of Billy’s Camaro around. “What’s going on?” 

Billy doesn’t answer. He just waits for Steve to unlock his car and opens the passenger door, slipping in. 

Steve stopped. Hesitated. But then entered the car too. 

“Have you eaten yet, pretty boy?” He asks, opening the window to blow the smoke from his cigarette outside. 

“What?” 

“Food.” Billy looks amused. “I could use some. Let’s go buy some fries or somethin’.” 

Billy’s wearing sunglasses, but from up close Steve can see the black eyes he has. 

He starts the car. 

They drive to the diner. Billy gets an hamburger and fries, Steve gets a strawberry milkshake. He slurps at it in silence, pondering about the other boy. 

Once he’s finished, he licks his fingers, before wiping the rest of the grease out on the offered napkins. Stands up and gets into Steve’s car again, making him hurry to follow. This time, Billy’s driving - and quite reasonably so, if Steve might say, as he slurps his shake. 

“So.” He doesn’t look from the road. “You have a hair-trigger.” 

Steve’s entire body freezes and he almost chokes on the straw he had been sipping from. “Hm-” 

“It’s okay, it’s fine, pretty boy,” His smile is devilish, something out of an erotic novel. Fucking hell. “What I wanna know is: is it just me?” 

Steve fumbles with the straw on his hand, avoiding Billy’s eye, stubbornly keeping his gaze all forward. 

Billy guides the car to the quarry and turns it off, turning his whole body to Steve. “Takes a lot of time to build up a trigger like that, pretty boy.” He lit up another cigarette. “I did some research on that.” 

Steve kept quiet, not really knowing what to say. 

“Alright, let’s make a deal.” Billy said, grabbing all of Steve’s attention. “You don’t have to tell me anything, but you gotta do a couple of things for me.” 

Steve couldn’t stop himself from rolling his eyes. “Shoot.” 

“First, I need you to do your thing. With me.” He took his sunglasses off, _showing_ the black eye. He looked wound up, suddenly, as if he was letting the mask fall. “I need you to wind me down like you did last time.” 

It probably tool a lot from him to say that. Steve didn’t have to think much. He just nodded. 

“I can do that, no problem.” 

“Good, good.” Billy answered. 

“Now, what’s the second thing?” He asked, curious. 

“Baby boy,” He turned to Steve, and the endearment threw him for a loop. Pulled something from the bottom of his spine, making his whole skin prickle. “You gotta lemme try to make you jizz your pants again.” 

Steve got _beet red_ . He was going to _die_ from mortification alone. 

“It-” He spoke, trying to push over it to manifest himself. “It was the first time something like this ever happened to me. I’m not-- not entirely sure that it wasn’t a one-time thing.” 

“I gathered.” He confirmed. “But it doesn’t hurt to try, does it?” He was leering. 

Still, he needed the words. “Because you wanna laugh about it?” 

Billy seemed to understand. “Lil’ bit, yeah.” He shifted in his seat. “But also because it’s _really hot_.” 

It was Steve’s time to lick his lips. Billy’s eyes followed the movement. 

“And… which one of the things you want to do first?” 

Billy smile, soft lips stretching, smug and eager, on his face, and pressed his lips to Steve’s. 

Positioning isn’t idea, but Billy makes do. He cups Steve’s face with one hand, the other supporting him in the middle of the seats, as he just lets his lips hover and linger over Steve’s. Then he kisses him properly, tongue sliding past Steve’s lips in a determinate push, licking into him eagerly. 

Steve has to grasp Billy’s shoulders. He’s already so keyed up that all it takes is another dive of Billy’s tongue on his mouth and Steve’s gasping, whole body tensing as he come in his pants. 

Billy has to watch to believe it. A heady feeling, to be able to make someone unravel like that only with his mouth. 

“Fuck.” Steve said, still shuddering, red from shame and dazed from the orgasm.

“I guess it wasn’t a one time thing, baby boy,” And _fuck_ if that nickname didn’t tear a shudder from Steve’s whole body again. 

Billy rewarded him with a bite on his neck, making him groan. 

“I think you-” Steve swallowed dry, having a hard time stringing sentences. “I think you have to keep testing. You know, just to make sure.” 

“Yeah.” He pecked Steve’s lips gently. “I think I do.” 


End file.
